Letting Go

So my daughter coloured her hair blue. I stared through the phone: trying to tell myself it was my imagination. It was not. It was a riot of blue.

Seeing me wince, she said, ‘Amma, I have been wanting to do it for a long time. And do not worry. It will wash away with every shampoo.’

I suggested dryly that she immediately take one. Her original thick black hair was so beautiful! She laughed.

Then I paused. It was her hair and her choice.

Art of letting go. Very tough for this particular mother, but it had to be done.

We talked about the philosophy lessons in the new quarter.

I decided to wait for the raven to return when it wished.

**

Having stubbornly rejected the idea of a small, steaming chocolate cake for dessert, my daughter looked expectantly at me. Now let Amma bite the bait. I could see in my imagination those sleeves being rolled up for a fight. ( ‘Whatever Amma says has to be negated’! Yippee!)

Then I paused. It was her tummy and her choice.

Art of letting go. Very tough for this particular mother, but it had to be done.

I ordered the chocolate cake for myself. Little girl ordered a milk shake. Five minutes into the eating, she scooped up the cake with her spoon. The shake was ruthlessly pushed towards me.

‘I changed my mind,’ she explained.

I tried to maintain as neutral a face as possible.

Ahhhh, there was something to this art of letting go!

As I sipped her milk shake, I reflected that I had always loved the colour blue.